


red thread

by pigeonsatdawn



Series: lauki week 2020 ✨ [1]
Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: A little bit of everything, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, BUT IT'S NOT AS SAD AS YOU THINK, Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, Light Angst, Soulmates, Spice, a rollercoaster, these tags... take them quite literally, this is a hell of a mess, this is terrible I'm sorry, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn
Summary: they experience it all: hate, love, the blurry lines in between.again and again and again.a "soulmate" au.trigger warnings:family problems, death, blood; all in minute amounts.there is spice and there is mention of death, but nothing graphic.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Series: lauki week 2020 ✨ [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965910
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	red thread

**Author's Note:**

> to start off lauki week 2020, i offer you: a taste-tester of the next six fics to come. 
> 
> enjoy, i guess.

O **nce,** there were two young hearts, who seemed to be constantly illuminated by a bright glow, even if they were in the darkness. 

“Why do you like wearing black so much?” the girl in yellow asks, in regards to the boy wearing a black dress shirt.

The children were out in the garden of the Sinclairs’ mansion, away from the crowd inside, who were enjoying the New Year’s party and mingling with each other under the bright lights. The garden was lighted dimly with outdoor lights as well, but the boy’s dark outfit made him blend to his surroundings, and the girl would’ve easily missed him, if not for the reflection of light on his blue irises. 

The boy gives her a questioning gaze. “Why, do I look bad in it?” He makes a concerned expression as he looks down at himself.

At this, the girl laughs, thinking of how stupid he looks as he tries to take a look at himself. “You look bad no matter what you wear,” she joked, earning a cute glare from the boy.

“You’re mean” he muttered. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Lauren Sinclair giggled, and though Kieran White wanted to stay mad at her, the sound of her laugh melted the annoyance as quickly as it came. In the seconds she giggled, eyes wrinkling like crescents, he took time to admire the look, how happy she was, how he wished he could be in that moment forever. 

Upon not getting a reply, she gave him a quizzical look, bringing him back to reality. He stuttered, “Okay, I don’t hate you. I just strongly dislike you.”

“Another lie!” she exclaimed. Kieran just wanted to squish her cute cheeks that puffs up when she grins. “Come on, admit it: I’m one of your favorite people in the world.”

He wanted to lie again, but he knew she’d call out the bluff immediately, so he deflected instead. “Keep dreaming,” he said instead. 

Lauren smirked. “You can try to avoid my ability, but I’d still know the truth. You’re one of my best friends, after all.”

“Honestly, how am I on the same level as the other two?” he grumbled, pouting very adorably, and this time Lauren was the one wishing she could squish his cheeks. “I’m clearly much better than them.”

“Look at you, jealous over your own friends,” she teased him, enjoying his predicament. “The way you’re being sulky and your very dark outfit, you sure do stand out amongst the flowers.”

Kieran wanted to point out that, even though she was dressed in yellow, the bright color of pretty flowers, she still stood out, brighter than any flower could ever be. But before he could, he heard a very loud complaint from the door leading out to the garden: “We’ve been searching for you two!”

It was a relieved William Hawkes, with an exhausted Dylan Rosenthal in tow behind him, who said, “We had to mingle with the adults, yet you two have been enjoying yourselves without us? I’m offended.” This, of course, caused Lauren to giggle yet again.

“Sorry,” she said in between laughs. “We got bored early and escaped the minute we found each other.”

The two boys wanted to question why neither of the other two hadn’t thought of finding them as well, but they already knew the answer: despite their youth, it seemed obvious to anyone—maybe especially so because they spent more time with the two—that Lauren and Kieran shone a little bit brighter in the presence of each other, enjoyed the other’s presence a little bit more. Dylan and William weren’t sure what it was yet, but they knew it was slightly different than the way they cared for each other as a whole.

So they let it go instead, and for the rest of the night, the four of them spent the new year in the garden, the laughter of youth filling the air.

—

S **omewhere else,** there was a young woman stressing over her first Law exam in university, while a young man makes a living out of making art and coffee.

****

****

“I’m starting to think you may have an unhealthy obsession with me,” the barista mused, after having greeted her thrice in a single shift.

The law undergraduate glared at him, clearly having no patience to deal with his teases; maybe if she was more awake, she would flirt back at the guy, but she _wasn’t_ —she was simply trying to keep her mind _running_. “You know what I want,” she croaked, not even bothering to mask her exhaustion. She took out some cash and slammed it on the counter. “Make it quick, and I’ll go on my merry way.”

“How do I know you won’t come back for another one? You’ve been doing that for a couple of times now,” he pointed out. Maybe he shouldn’t be dragging the conversation, he thought with pity as the woman’s face darkened, but as much as he’d like to just make her coffee and let her go, he was beginning to grow concerned for her.

Then again, he realized he probably had no right and no need to be concerned over her when she spat with much venom that he didn’t see coming: “If you don’t give me that coffee now I’ll make sure you see more of my face throughout night, and I won’t be this patient.”

Unfortunately it was in Kieran White’s nature to be suggestive, so he said instead, “Well I can’t say I’m surprised, most people are usually impatient when it comes to me. And with a beautiful face like yours, it won’t hurt to see it for an entire night, I don’t think.”

“Do you have a death wish?” Lauren Sinclair growled.

The barista decided to give her a break from the teases, but wasn’t willing to make her another cup of coffee. “You’re the one with a death wish, ordering another coffee when you look like you’re about to die any day. Go home and get some sleep.” He pushes the money back to her. “I’m not taking your order.”

“I’m a customer,” she complained, but he simply stared back at her. She continued to argue, “You can’t just refuse a customer. I’m _literally_ paying you. Just please, take my money, give me my coffee, and I’ll go on my merry way. I’m begging you.”

He held back his tongue from making another innuendo, before saying, “You’re not going to miraculously pass your exam if you drink another coffee. If anything, you’ll pass out in class, so instead try going to bed so you can wake up early to revise.”

Lauren groaned, but the yawn that came right after only proved Kieran right. “Why do you care? It’s not like my failing would impact your income earnings.”

“I don’t know, love for humanity?” he shrugged. “Wouldn’t you be concerned too, if you saw another person drown themselves in coffee to the brink of death? Wait, don’t answer that.”

She snorted. “I’m letting you slide this time, because my eyes are watering, you’re cute, and I can’t think straight. But be reminded, the next time I see you I will make sure to get my revenge.”

It took a while for him to register what she said. “Wait, you think I’m cute?” he said, but the woman had walked out the door, and he was left to himself in the desolated cafe at the lonely hour of midnight. Nonetheless, he smiled to himself, not quite sure whether it was because he’d managed to get her to sleep, or because she’d called him cute.

—

I **n a different time,** there were two creatures, dominant in the shadows, constantly chasing each other in circles wherever they go. 

Neither of them were able to speak comprehensively; their hands were moving faster, bodies in sync, and the only sound they could make was the occasional moan.

They weren’t supposed to be there, in her apartment, on her couch. No, Lauren Sinclair was supposed to be out tonight; she was supposed to be cleaning up the mess of the witness to the assassination she’d committed earlier that night, and Kieran White was _definitely_ not supposed to be having intercourse with said assassin. His job had been to take her back into his agency for them to figure out a way to deal with her. Though, he had to admit, with the way she succumbed into his occasional orders and let him take control, he had somehow managed to neutralize the assassin in his own, twisted way. 

Sometimes—more often than not—they get rough. It was to be expected; they needed the other, both for their job and their insatiable drive, and the only way to win at the game was by overpowering the other physically. They didn’t know much about the other’s personal life to catch them offhanded, even though it was their personal preference—Lauren because she could tell the lies, and Kieran because he was usually observant enough to do so. Somehow, they were the exception to the other’s methods, and hence the vicious cycle that came about. Carnal desire was all there was to be said about their relationship.

But this particular night, they were tired. Somehow, both were tired enough that neither was able to win over the other. Lauren thought this was too much of a coincidence, that the secret agent was just as tired as she was, the very same day she managed to mess up a mission of hers. Kieran thought the same: she could’ve so easily killed him, the way his eyes kept hazing, the way even his body movements became the same predictable set of actions he was used to.

Perhaps it was fate. But of course, neither believed in that silly thing.

“You should go,” she mumbled into his chest, fingers trailing the agent’s collarbone. She didn’t bother putting the effort to touch him gently.

He wasn’t sure whether she really wanted him to leave. Through lidded eyes, he looked at her blood red hair, before stroking her head softly. “Mhm,” he hummed, not moving a single inch.

She propped up on her chin to glare at him. “I mean it. We’re done.”

With his hand still on her head, he pulled her closer to his face, catching her mouth with his. “Liar,” he said in between kisses, as he rested his other hand on her waist, thumb pressing on her pelvic bone through her skin.

She stopped herself the moment he left her lips again, grabbing his wrist and prying it off her body. “You’ve gotta go. I have to go. We have a job,” she reminded him.

At this, he stopped in his tracks, too, catching Lauren by momentary surprise. He looked at her with such solemness she didn’t know existed in him, before saying, “ _You_ are my job, Sinclair. And I am yours. So tell me, why am I still here, alive? Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

She couldn’t answer the question. She didn’t know the answer to the question. She was sure that it was the same for the raven-haired man. Neither of them knew for sure _why_ they kept each other alive, out of reach—all they knew was that they made each other feel good for the night, and the next day they’d deny having encountered each other at all. 

She pried herself off him, got herself clothed, before leaving him in her apartment. It wouldn’t be much of a problem—not that she trusted him, of course, but there was nothing he could take from the apartment that could be used to hold her captive. Then again, she’d thrown herself onto him time and time again, and this was no different—and so the cycle began anew.

—

O **n the other hand,** there was a child, so loved by her parents, but spent her life hiding behind locked doors, forced to hear a viciousness so unlike their daily banters.

“How could you do this to us?” the woman was screaming at her husband, and Sophia Sinclair-White could hear her mother’s labored breaths as she tried to calm herself, so as to not escalate the argument any further.

But Sophia could tell that this was only going to get worse, because if there was anything Lauren Sinclair hated, it was when Kieran White decided to hide things from her. Usually his reasons for hiding anything from her was because he didn’t want to worry her. But Sophia understood her mother’s rage, when it turned out, Kieran had been hiding the fact that he’d accepted a business promotion that requires him to travel out of the country, while Lauren’s own job as a teacher, and the fact that she was pregnant, anchors them to where they were. “The least you could do was _tell me_ ,” she said frustratedly. “Maybe then we’ll be able to figure something out.”

Sophia imagined her father running a hand through his messy locks, before he said, “That’s exactly it, Lauren. You’re going to try to find a way to refuse the promotion, I know you.”

“Then why did you take it in the first place?” Lauren was practically screeching. It wasn’t like her to lose her patience this bad, and it brought Sophia to tears. She willed herself to hold her tongue, afraid that if she whimpered, her parents would somehow hear her and blame themselves for arguing within her earshot. She didn’t want that, because she knew, of course, that it was always because of her they were arguing.

“Lauren—” Kieran sighed. “We’re going to have another child to support. As you know, I’m already working day and night to make ends meet, and with Sophia that was enough, but if we’re going to have another _child_ I—I need to make more money. I have no choice.”

“No, you _had_ a choice, Kieran,” Lauren spat out. “I’ve been telling you to just accept the money I have, yet you _refused_ . My uncle’s fine with it, I’m fine with it, no one uses the money, so _why_ do you insist on not accepting it?”

“That money belongs to you and your family, Lauren,” Kieran argued, irritated. Sophia herself had heard them go over this so many times. “I told you—”

“And am I not her mother? Am I not allowed to support her with the money I have?” Lauren scoffed. “You’re just _so fucking prideful_ , you can’t bear the thought of your children thinking you can’t make enough money for them—”

Kieran let out a growl, and shivers ran down Sophia’s spine. She’d known her parents to get quite physical even in their daily banters, even if they’ve never harmed each other, but she became scared nonetheless. “It’s not about _pride_ , Lauren, it’s my responsibility as a fucking _father_ to be able to provide support for my own children.”

“It’s also your responsibility to be there for your children, _especially_ the moment they’ll be born,” Lauren countered, venom lacing her voice. “If you can’t be there for your children, what good of a father would you be? What good would all the money you could provide do in her life, if she can’t even see you?” When Kieran didn’t reply, she seemed to realize, and said with a humorless chuckle. “Oh. Wow. So you’re planning to take her away from me too.”

“No— _fuck_ , no,” he cursed, “I was planning to bring all of us there. You included.”

“You’re _deluded_ if you think I’ll humor you, after you’ve hidden this from me for so long,” Lauren immediately refused. “Who do you think am I? Just a babysitter for your children? Kieran, I have a _fucking life_ too.”

“I _know_ of course you have a life,” he said frustratedly. “Do I look like I like this arrangement? I just want what’s best for Sophia and our future kid, Lauren. Try to not be selfish on this for once. Think of our children.”

Sophia could barely hear what her mother said next: “You call _me_ selfish? _Fuck_ you, Kieran. You’re crazy. You’re not taking my children anywhere. You can go, get your money. Send them to us if that’s what you really want. Sophia would never be happy even if you bring her with you, so don’t dare to dream. Go.”

Then she heard the footsteps, so she retreated to her bed, quickly wiping her tears on her pillow before flipping it, just in case her parents decided to come in to check on her. From the other room, she didn’t hear her mother say to her father just before she unlocked the door: “Did you even think of how I would feel about this all? Did you even _care_?”

—

A **time and place other than this,** there were two souls, weared by time and all the experiences life has left to offer, waiting for the eternal slumber to take over.

“Why are you always stuck to the bed? Is the view of Ladell eating watermelon that fascinating to you?” the old man questioned the only woman still lying on her bed, a few minutes past noon, as he leaned on his wooden cane. 

The woman named Kym Ladell was sitting next to the window, with a tray of sliced watermelon placed on the ledge. Kieran must admit, watching her eat the watermelon with her lack of teeth was interesting; mostly because it worked, for watermelons were soft in texture and didn’t require active chewing, but also because the liquid kept dripping down the corners of her mouth, rendering the lady irritated. Said lady turned around to see Kieran, and greeted him with a wide, toothless smile.

“Kieran!” she exclaimed, her excitement akin to that of a young kid’s as they were rewarded with food. “It’s about time you came,” she noted. “She hasn’t gotten out of bed since the last 50 hours or so.”

“Kym, I got up just 20 minutes ago to go to the restroom,” Lauren reminded her. “And Kieran, I’m here because I’ve done all I could do, and I’m just waiting for death to pick me up.”

“Well maybe death can’t find you because you’ve been hiding in here,” Kieran joked, croaking a laugh at his own joke. Lauren simply squinted her eyes at him. His laugh faded into a smile, and he said, “Come on, Mrs. Sinclair, let me entertain you with things you didn’t know before.”

Lauren groaned, but she did so while making the effort to get out of bed. “Try me, Mr. White,” she challenged, making her way to the man and taking his hand.

They headed towards the common space, where the other residents were having a painting class. “Say, lady, have you ever engaged in the fine art that is painting?” Kieran asked out of curiosity, though his eyes were already fixated towards a set of brushes placed next to a blank canvas.

At that, she made a face. “Do I look like I’d be good at arts? Because I’ve tried, and I suck at it grandly. It’s truly the devil’s work.” As she said that, she couldn’t help but appreciate and admire the simple paintings being drawn by her fellow residents.

She didn’t notice Kieran’s gaze had strayed away from reality quite a little. “The devil’s work, you say?” he noted with a chuckle. “Well you and I have very different definitions of devil, Sinclair.” When Lauren kept staring at him, he said softly, “My wife was a painter, a great one. She’s… the kindest person I’ve ever met, and she was kind to everybody, not just to me.”

Lauren felt a pang of sympathy for the man. “What happened to her? That is, if you don’t—”

He shook his head. “She died of old age. It’s not a big issue, don’t worry. Besides, we’re all treading the fine rope of death ourselves, aren’t we?”

They seated on the stools next to the empty canvas, and Kieran handed a brush to her. After he prepared the paint on the palette, he said, “Give it a try; draw anything you like. Something inanimate, maybe.”

Lauren gave him a dumbfounded expression, but followed his orders nonetheless. She began with drawing a vertical line of green. Then she asked, hesitantly: “What’s an easy flower to draw?”

He snorted. “Uh, any flower’s easy to draw if you don’t care enough. But if you want me to answer honestly… I like drawing hyacinths.”

This confused her even more. “Hyacinths? They look extremely detailed. Why do you find it easy to draw?”

Kieran began painting on the canvas, over her green stalk, not replying to her question immediately. It was after the flower seemed to take shape in the canvas, with him having applied at least three different shades of blue on it, when he said, “My wife liked hyacinths, but I was allergic to flowers. She’d paint them often, though, and I never bothered learning how to paint—I was more of a sketcher myself—until she began forgetting.”

Lauren held a hand on his shoulder. “Kieran, you don’t… you don’t have to keep going. That must’ve been tough.”

“It… it’s fine, really,” he reassured, giving her a split-second glance. “She was happy, at least. So that’s good. And I know she’d want me to be happy, too. That’s sort of why… sort of why I began to hate the purple hyacinth.”

When she expressed her confusion, Kieran smirked. “See, something you didn’t know. Purple hyacinths mean regret, forgiveness. Something you’d give after committing a sin, doing wrong. She’s done nothing wrong, and neither have I. Blue hyacinths represent sincerity, so they’re better in a lot of ways. Besides, they match my blue eyes.”

Lauren had to roll her eyes, but admired the way the old man did not hold himself back to a tragedy in his life, the way she’d done years and years ago when she didn’t know better. 

Not a week later, she heard the news that Kieran White had joined his late wife, but she wasn’t too sad about it, not the way she thought she’d be. If anything, she appreciated his last words to her more, as she made efforts to get out of bed, visiting the garden once in a while, appreciating the beautiful blue of the hyacinths.

—

 **O nce,** there were two broken hearts, formed over a forced truce, working under the cracks of moonlight, in pursuit of solace for their losses.

They were so close to the final showdown, the difference in the outcomes farther than ever; they were so close to each other, the distance between them wider than ever.

They were sitting side by side, backs against cold bricks, sitting on dirty ground. Kieran White was holding a hyacinth in one hand, resting it on his bloody sword. His other hand was resting on the ground, next to Lauren Sinclair’s. Her other hand was gripping the barrel of her pistol, also placed on the ground.

Their hands were only connected by the trail of red that ran down their arms, a single thin thread of blood between their pinkies.

None of this felt real. Lauren itched to grab Kieran, wanting him to reassure her that this was all just a dream, that they weren’t minutes away from achieving what they’ve longed for so long—the Leader. And he wanted to hold her, tell her it’ll all be fine, that when she wakes up the next day everything will be alright and he’ll be next to her.

Neither quite wanted to accept the reality of what they were, and all the reasons they _couldn’t_ be together.

And, for a second, they let themselves dream. “Is this really it?” Lauren croaked out. She didn’t have much energy to speak, not after the stunt and the near escape they just pulled. “When we do this, is it all over?”

Kieran didn’t bother looking at her. He forced himself to look away, because he knew he’d crumble if he had to see her expression. He simply hummed; a weak hum, but even more, a half-truth, because he knew full well that this wasn’t just the end. It was not the end for him; because of all the things he’d done, he’d have to face the consequences, which was why it was the end of Lune. The end of them, together. “You can finally rest,” he pointed out, even though he had an idea that it was not what she meant at all.

Lauren wanted to point out all the ways her life would change after this, but she was too tired, so she simply let out a weak chuckle. Then, she tried again: “Is this really the only way?”

“The _best_ way,” Kieran corrected. “There are many ways, but you won’t like any of them. We’ve gone through this. Which outcomes are you considering now, Officer?”

“One where—” she turned to look at him, only to find his aqua eyes already fixated at her own aureate ones. So she stopped, because she didn’t need to say it. She couldn’t, anyway. They both knew, anyway. _One where the both of them made it out alive. One where they could make it out alive_ together. _One where there were no consequences for them to face, one where they could just be with the other, at rest, after all they’ve done, all they’ve lost, all they’ve sacrificed to get here._

But that was idealistic. That was for dreams. They could never bring themselves to believe that there could be a realistic outcome in which they were together and happy, one where they could freely… _love_ the other. They were too broken. Too wrong. 

Kieran was first to look away. Lauren wanted to reach out, hold his hand, or his chin, or his hair, or his lips—but she retracted her fingers, curling it into her palm, before balling her hand in a tight fist. Kieran was gripping the hilt of his sword just as tightly. 

They can only hope that, maybe, in another world, they could be together: free of past tragedies, free of grey morals, free of monsters and hypocrites. _Together, and happy._

**Author's Note:**

>  _see: this is a hell of a mess, and i hate it. i don't normally like soulmate aus, so i wasn't sure what to write. so i googled soulmate. so i found that soulmates are basically a fated pair in spite of time and space. so somehow, this fic became a bunch of aus smashed into one. it became longer than expected, yet each segment is so short that i don't really get the feeling. idk._  
>    
> for those of you who may be wondering: red thread is a common symbolism for soulmates. the red thread can be stretched apart, folded, trampled, etc, but it cannot be broken. or something like that.
> 
> this (and unfortunately, the next few fics) will be quite bad. i apologize in advanced. (i write this in sleep deprived states, don't give much thought into it, and am procrastinating on my work while doing so.)
> 
> nonetheless, if you're reading this, thank you! comments and kudos appreciated, as always.


End file.
